The Giver Reimagined: Origins
by theshadesoflife
Summary: "The Giver" Reimagined: Origins explores the clandestine origins of the first Giver.


**_The Giver_** **Reimagined: Origins**

Jonas had grown accustomed to the pressure on his back. The Receiver's hands were warm and calloused, and Jonas felt them grate against his soft skin as he closed his eyes. He could hear noises muffled and rhythmic in the distance. He numbered the sounds without speaking. _One two three four five_ in quick succession _._ The tapping grew closer and louder, always with brief pauses between bursts. _One two three four five._ Pause. _One two three four five._ Pause. Jonas could see the sky now. The clouds were washed with red as the sun dissolved beneath the horizon.

A loud clap broke the pause, snatching Jonas' attention away from the sunset. He was surrounded by men on all sides now, half of them dressed in green, the other half in blue. Jonas heard the rhythmic tapping clearly now. Each time the noise was accompanied by a flash of light. He watched as flashes appeared all around him. Some men crouched behind uniform mounds of dirt, holding the lights in their hands as the loud tapping continued, while other men fell to the ground, motionless. Jonas remembered a word, repeating it to himself. _Dead._

Another loud clap broke Jonas' thoughts, startling him. He watched as a large metal beast rolled by, emitting a third clap and flash before stopping in the distance. It was dark now. So dark that there were no stars, and the only lights were the periodic flashes, accompanied by loud tapping. _One two three four five. Dead._

Holes suddenly appeared in the sky in no apparent order. It was as though a solitary flame flickered behind each one, melting the darkness and letting rays of light shine through. The holes widened and spread as the black sky burned down around Jonas. The men were still crouching, holding flashes of light in their hands every time the loud tapping was heard. Jonas watched as more men fell. He watched them lay motionless on the ground. The beast bellowed in the distance with a loud clap and flash of light. The sky was gone, and Jonas watched as the men and the flashes and the beast burned away.

A new image came into focus as Jonas strained to see. He was standing in a room now. A small group of people sat around a large table in the center of the room, some women, some men. Their muffled voices grew clearer as Jonas listened.

"There is no other way," said a man seated closest to Jonas. His hands, clasped together, fingers intertwined, were resting on the table in front of him. "The only way for us to remember is for us to forget."

"It will come at a cost, Darian," said a woman sitting across from the man. She wore a blue blouse tucked neatly into a brown skirt. "You can't selectively mute some memories and expect others to remain. If we do this— if we sanitize the bad—we lose the good, too." Some of the people at the table averted their eyes as if they sought an answer to an impossible question. Others looked down as if they were disappointed by the choice they knew they were about to make. A man at the far end of the table pursed his lips, trying to restrain his need to speak.

"It is better that we bear the burden of ignorance than knowingly suffer," he finally said, the words bursting from his mouth. "If, in the end, we sacrifice a little good so that we may lose all that is bad, we will have made the right choice." The room was quiet now. Jonas waited for what seemed like hours until the man named Darian finally spoke again.

"Each of you must decide," he said, scanning the room with his eyes. "All in favor of proceeding with the sanitization of memories." Jonas watched as hands slowly floated into the air until there was not a single dissenter in the room, including the woman with the blue blouse, though her hand was last to rise. "Very well," he said. "It is decided." Turning in his chair, Darian rose and walked to a door at the end of the room. He pushed against the wooden frame, using his arm to hold it open, though he did not walk through. Jonas stood, still in the corner of the room, wondering what the man was waiting for. After a moment, a young boy about Jonas' age appeared in the doorway and paused there. Darian motioned him into the room. The boy paused for a moment longer before timidly entering.

"There," said Darian, allowing the door to close and pointing to a small cot at the opposite end of the room. Jonas wondered why he hadn't noticed it until now. "Please lie there, face down." The others sitting at the table looked at Darian as he nodded. At once, though slowly, the men and women in the room each pushed their chairs back and stood, some more reluctantly than others. The boy had made his way to the cot and was now lying down. Darian and the others approached the side of the cot, some of them fidgeting as they shuffled over.

"It is very important that you remain still," said Darian. The boy nodded. The woman with the blue blouse gently rested her hand on the boy's shoulder.

"It is time," she said. The woman meant to comfort the boy, but to Jonas her voice was strange and sad. Another woman stood close by. Taking hold of the boy's shirt, she reluctantly pushed it back until a large portion of the boy's back was bare. Darian reached his hand out first, resting it on the boy's back. Other hands followed until all hands were resting on the boy's bare skin.

"Remember, Renton," said the woman with the blouse, this time more hopefully than before, "you are to receive so that we may all receive. Now close your eyes and don't open them until it's over." Her voice was soft and kind. The boy obediently complied, looking in Jonas' direction before closing his eyes. The room was quiet again. Jonas' attention wandered, his eyes scanning the high ceiling until he heard a sudden shriek split the silence. He snapped his eyes back toward the boy on the cot. Renton's body writhed, his hair damp with sweat. The men and women stood, hands still pressed against his skin. Jonas wanted to make them stop. He rushed forward, nearing the corner of the room where they all stood. Renton's shrieks grew louder and more anguished, his jaw clenched tight.

"Stop it!" Yelled Jonas. "You're hurting him. It's killing him!" As he reached out to push the hands away, the walls around them began to wrinkle. The room started to melt away as the shrieks became more subdued. The woman's blouse faded, the blue becoming dull gray.

It was quiet again. Jonas lay still for a moment before opening his eyes. His cheeks were wet. He used his sleeve to wipe them as he sat up.

"Not yet," said the Receiver, speaking to no one in particular. He muttered something under his breath as Jonas stood. "No, not yet." The Receiver paced at the other end of the room as Jonas approached.

"They knew," said Jonas. His words were sad and slow. "They knew what would happen." His tone was seeped in anger now. The Receiver stopped mid-gait and paused before looking up.

"That memory was not meant for you. Not yet." His face was sunken, his eyes deep and knowing. "Sometimes the wrong memories find their way to the surface. I can't always control the things you see."

"Who were they?" asked Jonas. "The men and women in that room. Who was that boy?"

"I gave you the memory of war," said the Receiver. "That was the first memory. The flashes you saw were being emitted from something called guns. The tapping—that was the sound of the guns firing. And then…" his voice faltered.

"What?" asked Jonas. "And then what?" The Receiver began to pace again, this time moving close to a window that overlooked the town below. He stopped there, peering out through the clear glass.

"That? That was the Hall of Elders. That was the first Receiver."


End file.
